Monster
by dragonfic
Summary: The BAU are still reeling from losing Emily while on the trail of a serial killer copying the M.O. of the Redmond Ripper.
1. Prologue: Time for Me to Fly

PROLOGUE - TIME FOR ME TO FLY

Forty-eight hours.

That's how long it had been since she'd had a decent night's sleep. For the past two days, Special Agent Ashley Seaver had been tracking down bad guys with the rest of her team, an elite division of the F.B.I. known as the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Together, they had apprehended the prime suspect in a series of kidnappings that had plagued Kansas City for years, possibly even decades.

But it wasn't until Ashley and her team had arrived in Kansas last Wednesday that the local police had even realized they had a serial murderer on their hands.

Ashley blew out a sigh and leaned back in one the plastic orange-and-metal chairs that lined the wall of the airport from which they would be departing. How many lives were lost? How many were still unaccounted for? They had stopped counting at twenty-nine missing and twenty-seven dead. One woman was still unaccounted for. The other had been found in the nick of time.

The sound of rustling beside her caught her attention, and Ashley opened her eyes in time to see the rest of her team leaving to board their jet.

_Were they even going to tell me they were leaving?_ Ashley asked herself, but tried not to think too much about it. The team had gone through a lot of changes in the past couple of years, and being the new girl, she could empathize with the others and their reluctance to get to know her better.

Her acerbic team leader, Aaron Hotchner, threw her a pointed look and tapped his index finger against his watch face. She gave him a tight-lipped smile and prepared herself for what was coming next. No doubt about it, she was ready to be home, in her own apartment, in her own bed, but she was _not_ excited about what it would take to get there:

Five hours in a jet with a team who hated her.

With the exception of Agent Rossi, everyone was seated when she boarded the plane. She looked around and noticed once again how everyone had spread out, some of them taking up two seats. Odd for such a close-knit team. It was as though they wanted to be as far away from each other as was possible.

Morgan was slunk low in the seat, playing _Angry Birds_ on his iPhone, one long leg propped up on the seat in front of him.

"Can I-?" Ashley said.

Morgan looked up at her. She motioned to the seat nearest the window, and he lowered his leg to the floor so she could get by.

"Thanks," she said as she fastened herself in.

Morgan didn't say anything. He had returned to his game.

_He's had a long day_, she told herself as she leaned her head back into the over-sized leather seat and closed her eyes as the pilot prepared for takeoff. _We're all on edge._

Once the plane was in the air, it didn't take long for her mind to switch into auto-pilot mode.

_I hope the surviving victim, Pauline, is okay. I've counseled a lot of women at shelters and being held hostage by a serial killer leaves scars. Big ones._

_So does being the daughter of one. _Seaver glanced over at Morgan. _Scars that keep me from connecting to my teammates. Do they sense how broken I am inside? How damaged? It doesn't matter how many accolades and awards I receive. How many jobs I hold. _

_I've worked sex crimes in Manhattan SVU because someone has to do it. As a lab tech uncovering evidence in CSI, coaxed confessions out of murderers in the LAPD, and even as a covert operative in the CIA._

_I won an Olymphic gold medal in a relay race, even after I tore my achilles' tendon. I will never forget the sound of the tendon popping off my ankle, so like a gunshot. But I couldn't let my team down. Even if they didn't understand what it cost me._

_But none of it matters. Not then, and not at the BAU. They will always see me as Seaver: Child of the Redmond Ripper. I am half of the monster they hunt every day._

_Who am I to expect them to love me? To accept me? I can only hope that someday, somehow, I earn their trust. That I can make up for the sins of my father._

Seaver took an iPod out of her bag. She didn't want to put it on right away, just in case Morgan needed to talk about the gruesome crime scene they'd all witnessed. She had a degree in counselling, and she might be able to ease some of his burden.

But he was still playing Angry Birds.

She put the earbuds in her ears, and Five Finger Death Punch started to play "Far from Home".

"Cause it's almost like, your heaven's trying everything to keep me out." The voice crooned in her ears. Tears pricked her eyes. She could relate a little too well to this song, but she couldn't skip it. She felt compelled to hear the rest of the song, like this was part of her penance. Her long road to salvation.

But sometimes, oh sometimes, the road seemed so long.

The jet dropped, sending Ashley's stomach on a roller coaster ride. She shot forward and opened her eyes, and saw that everyone was wearing the same look of surprise and relief and maybe even trepidation that she was.

"You know, air pockets like that one aren't uncommon when you're traveling between ten and fifteen thousand feet," Reid said. "It's usually nothing, but sometimes turbulence is an indicator of an electrical storm or-"

No sooner were the words out of Reid's mouth than the jet dropped again. Ashley looked over at Morgan. He'd put away his cell phone, but she could still hear the soundtrack to _Angry Birds_ emanating from his back pocket.

Desperate for assurance, Ashley cast her glance back at Reid, who was fastening his seatbelt across his lap. Almost as though he could sense her apprehension, he looked up at her. Their eyes locked and he flicked her a kind smile.

"We'll be fine," she imagined him telling her. "This is just a precaution."

Then her thoughts strayed to what could never be, and she imagined him switching seats with Morgan, lacing his hands in hers. "We'll be fine, Ashley. I won't let anything happen to you."

Her heartbeat sped up, and not just because the plane was now bouncing through the air. But Reid could never love a woman like her. She was half the monster he hunted. She wasn't his type. The other team mates whispered about Reid and JJ's love affair, before that hick from Louisiana got in the way. If JJ was the sort of woman that Reid preferred, than Ashely didn't stand a chance in hell.

The plane bounced again, and she let out a little yelp.

Morgan snorted under his breath, "Amateur."

She desperately wanted to explain that when she was paradiving into foreign countries to retrieve refugees one day the plane went down. She spent days marooned on a wretched little island in the Pacific. Ever since then she'd been terrified of jets, and it took all her willpower to get on the jet every time they had a case outside of the tri-county area.

But someone has to catch the monsters, and who better but a half-monster herself?

"It's okay, Ashley." Reid smiled at her, but it was strained. How sweet of him to care about her feelings like that. But that was just his nature; he was the kindest, gentlest soul she'd ever met.

She would stop at nothing to make sure he stayed that way-innocent and pure. She wouldn't let the monsters turn him into one.

A bright light flashed in her eye. It was clear now, why she was here. She was here to not just save the countless victims of serial killers and arson bombists, but to save the team from themselves.

She was already half way gone, but maybe, just maybe, they could be her road to salvation. She could lead them away from the darkness, and save herself in the process.


	2. Chapter 1: Livin' on a Prayer

**CHAPTER ONE: LIVIN' ON A PRAYER**

Monday morning rolled around too soon. Spencer shucked his sunglasses as he entered the building, scanned his card to get through security, and then made his way through the crowd to the row of elevators on the far wall.

"Late night?"

Spencer looked behind him. It was Rossi, looking as ragged as Spencer felt. He wondered idly if he had the same dark circles under his eyes that Rossi had.

"More like an early morning," Spencer said as Rossi sidled up beside him. The elevator doors opened and the two of them stepped inside. "I had a call from my mom at three this morning. She was having a bad night."

Rossi shook his head. "And you?"

Spencer thought about the nightmares he had been having and how they permeated his mind, day and night. Years ago, when the nightmares had first started, they had been fleeting. A bad case, a bad day, would lead to a single bad night. But not anymore. Now they were, painted on the backs of his eyelids every time he closed them. The ghosts of the people he couldn't save haunted him with no end.

"I slept like a baby," Spencer said, noting the defensive tone in his voice.

Rossi raised his eyebrows in that superior way of his, but said nothing. They headed into the conference room. It was still early. Morgan was probably rolling out of bed right now, and Hotch was still asleep on the cot in his office.

He was startled to see Ashley already sitting in the room, a legal pad sitting neatly in front of her. His throat closed up and all the smart pick up lines he'd read on the Internet immediately left his mind, eidetic memory or not. She was like a bright ray of sunshine on a cloudy day. The few good dreams he had left were of her, holding him, her honey blond hair cascading down her back like a golden waterfall.

She would never go for a guy like him. He was too lanky, too tall, too not-hunky. What could he offer an amazing girl like that? She was like a gentle flower in this world, and he almost wished she'd never come her. She shouldn't be in a place like this. She should be safe, even though it was selfish of him to draw strength from her daily presence. Just knowing that she would be waiting for him at work was enough to push him out of bed.

He'd asked Morgan a few days ago how to court a woman, but Morgan laughed and shook his head at him.

"Dude, Reid. It's not called courting. You're _dating_ the woman, and you should be dating as many as you can."

"I thought women wanted a monogamous-" He'd started to say, but Morgan cut him off with a bray of laughter.

"Dude, heck nah! They want you to pretend you're monogamous, but really they want a man that's experienced in the sack."

Reid could feel himself blush, even now at the memory. There were times that having profilers for friends was most inconvenient. That was one of those times. Morgan somehow knew that Reid'd never...exactly, well, _been_ with a woman. Like that. Before.

"So, let's get started." Hotch marched into the conference room. Reid could never figure out how Hotch kept his clothes so pressed and wrinkled free.

"Good morning to you too Hotch." Reid muttered. Sometimes he missed Gideon so much it hurt. Having never had a real father, Gideon stepped in and taught him the ways of life. Gideon was more of a father to him then his real dad ever was. Hotch was a great leader and all, but he never tried to make nice with Reid or the other profilers. Reid suspected that Hotch didn't actually need to kick him that time they were held hostage. At least, not that hard. And Reid was sure that Gideon would give him different advice with women. But then, Morgan _did_ have a lot of dates. So maybe he knew what he was talking about.

Reid set his chin on his hand. He was so confused. How did anyone figure out how to deal with people? He looked around the table as Hotch droned on about their latest case. Reid had already read the file and knew what the case was about and the type of unsub they were dealing with.

He stole a sideways glance at Seaver-no Ashley is what he liked to call her in his private mind. He didn't know the first thing about women. How was he supposed to know how to "please a woman until her toes curled" as Morgan put it? Even the very thought made him blush.

He shook his head. Focus on the case.

"Are you with us Reid, or are you going to look at Seaver all day?" Hotch and everyone was staring at him.

Reid ducked his head down. Rossi was smirking. Morgan looked smug. Hotch just stared at him. If Gideon were here, Gideon wouldn't have called him out like that. "No sir. I just thought that I'd let you finish going over the file."

Hotch quirked an eyebrow. Reid knew this meant he was supposed to elaborate.

Reid heaved a sigh. "Because I figure we're dealing with a team here. One of them is an arson bombist and the other is a sexual sadist."

Ashley was silently nodding, beaming at him like he was a star pupil. He tried not to notice.

Hotch quirked his eyebrow and cocked his head. Reid knew this meant he should explain why he thought an arson bombist and a sexual sadist would actually team up with each other.

"Well, look at the bomb debris."

"I've already studied it, kid." Morgan said, sitting back and gesturing with a pen. "This is a high quality explosive. Not your garden variety arson bombist. Most personality types like that would be too paranoid to work with a partner, much less someone who's not into bombs." 

Reid nodded. He could see how all the piece fit though, and it was exciting to see the bigger picture. "I know, but see in the late eighteen hundreds there was a similar case. It didn't receive a lot of press because Jack the Ripper was so much more famous, but it was two brothers. One of them received sexual gratification from blowing up public buildings with rudimentary alchemy, and the other received gratification from inflicting pain on other people. Actually, did you know that scientists studied the pleasure centers of-" 

"Skip the lecture, Reid." Morgan gestured with his pen again.

They never wanted to hear about the studies. "Okay, so anyway. It's unlikely, but it's possible that these two are working together. The sexual sadist find the victims, holds them hostage, and tortures them. Then, when the other is ready, the arson bombist blows up the civic building, killing the victims and destroying all evidence."

"Wow," Ashley said, her voice like milk and honey, "That's a volatile combination."

The door to the murder room opened and Garcia bustled in. Penelope Garcia had started as the team's technical analyst, but last year had taken over the role of media liaison after their old liaison had been moved to a different department. It had not been an easy transition, for any of them. Garcia was no JJ, but she had acclimated to her new duties better than anyone would have guessed, toning down her wardrobe and increasing her workload in an effort to keep the team together. Today, for example, she was wearing electric purple cat-eyed glasses to match her hot pink slip dress. She'd paired the ensemble with a pair of yellow espadrilles and an anklet with a lucky rabbit's foot on it.

"There's been another arson bombing," Garcia said. She reached across the table for the remote, giving Morgan an up close and personal view of her ample bosom, and hit a button. News footage of a devastated city building appeared on the screen behind her. "They found two bodies on the fourth floor, both of which meet our unsub's M.O."

"The body count stopped at two?" Morgan inquired. "That seems low for something like this."

"Pay attention, Sugar Breeches," Garcia said. "I didn't say the body count stopped at two. Right now, they're up to forty-nine and still counting." Morgan shook his head. "But the two bodies on the fourth floor? They were different than the others."

Garcia hit a button the remote and the image behind her changed to that of two charred bodies. Spencer glanced over at Ashley, worried that the sight might bring up bad memories for her. To his surprise-and also relief-she was eyeing the image curiously.

"They're not wearing clothes," she said. "Why would they be in a government building, in the middle of the day, without their clothes on?"

Garcia touched the tip of her nose. "Bingo."

"Maybe one is a politician and the other is an intern."

"Morgan," Hotch chided, and Morgan fell silent.

"You know, I feel like I've seen this before," Rossi said. "The arson bombing...the sexual sadism...it feels familiar somehow."

Spencer glanced over at Ashley again. This time, however, she didn't appear curious or at ease. She was staring down at her tablet computer, a look on her face that told him she was trying to closer herself off from the conversation going on around her.

But why?

Spencer turned to his own tablet computer and flipped through the information Garcia had given them, speed-reading it all for the third time. Like Rossi, he had the faintest feeling of deja vu, like he'd seen this somewhere before, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

_His finger_.

He flipped back to the image of the charred corpse Garcia had just added to the case file, and used his thumb and forefinger to increase the image size. He zoomed in on one of the victim's hands, and felt his eyes widen in understanding.

The tip of the right index finger was missing.

"Hey, guys, I think we've got something," Spencer said. But when his eyes met Ashley's, he realized with a shock of horror _why_ the missing fingertip, the drop site, the arson bombing had all felt so familiar.

It was the same modus operandi the Redmond Ripper had used when he had first started killing, hiding bodies in buildings that were to be destroyed and destroying the evidence along with them.

It was an fact about the famous serial killer that wasn't well-publicized. In fact, it hadn't even been discovered until a few years ago, when the Ripper himself-Charles Beauchamp-had revealed it to a probationary agent profiling him in prison for an update to the BAU database.

An update Spencer doubted anyone in the room had read besides himself. He reasoned Rossi had made the connection because he had worked the Ripper case. And Ashley...

Ashley knew because her father was Charles Beauchamp.

Hotch cleared his throat.

"Reid," Morgan said, "you feel like sharing with the rest of the class?"

Spencer looked from Hotch to Morgan and back again. Then he made a strangled sound and said, "Sorry, I, um, thought I saw something, but it was just a smudge on my tablet."

Morgan laughed slightly while Ashley gave Spencer an appreciative look. He returned the look with a warm smile, and was surprised at the tingle he felt when that smile, still warm, was returned.


	3. Chapter 2: We Didn't Start the Fire

**Chapter Two: **We Didn't Start the Fire

It was a pleasure to burn.

Perhaps one of the most used quotes in The Burninator's line of business, but still. It was cliche for a reason. He hunched down on his ankles, watching the flames lick the concrete. Heat was already beginning to waft up from the flames.

This building was going to burn. And after he secured the exists and locked the bank down, so would the rest of the hostages. As soon as Redmond finished with his toys, they could leave.

The Burninator took a long puff on his cigar. Cigarettes was for amateurs. He enjoyed a fine Cuban cigar. It soothed his nerves. The flames crawled across the floor, steadily heading for their target.

The woman whimpered. She could see the pool of gasoline and oil around her chair.

"Oh, it's going to be okay." The Burninator smiled. "Someone will surely come save you-oh wait. No one knows you're here."  
>The woman whimpered again. What a coward. But she was going to die for a just cause. He smiled at her, almost benevolently. "It's going to be okay. They will remember your name as a martyr. We're going to remake this world, and your sacrifice won't be in vain."<p>

She shook her head violently.

The Burnanator continued, taking care to step over the river of fire. Wouldn't want to set himself on fire, would he? He chuckled. "Did you know there's a river completely made of fire in Hell? It's called Acheron or Pheologos or something like that." He tapped some ashes into the growing fire. "Anyway. We're going to remake the world. There will be some...growing pains of course. This world will be bathed in fire and be reborn in the molten ashes of fire...like a phoenix."

He closed his eyes. He could feel his excitement growing. The sheer joy of it. What was the flesh and body of another person to the hot lick of the flame? Flames were so like women. A fickle mistress indeed. At least with flames, you expected to get burned.

Damn that Penelope. He shook his head. _Stay on task. Make sure the woman know what she's dying for. _

"The world. It sucks. We both know it." He gestured around him. "You work in a fucking bank for crying out loud. Dealing with people's money all day, yet never getting some for yourself. It's sickening. But me and Redmond..." He shuddered with excitement. The flames climbed the walls now, reaching the woman's feet like a hungry puppy.

She started screaming behind the gag.

"Scream for me! Yes! My angel of the flame! You and the rest will pave the way for a glorious new world! Scream for my kinsmen, struck down before their prime. Let people know what happened!"

Her scream grew louder.

His palms grew clammy and he started to shake. He was aroused. Very aroused. It was time to leave, and take his pleasure of the hooker he had waiting for him at the hotel. Redmond should be finished with his girls by now, and already leaving the building.

He tossed his cigar behind him as something large exploded. The woman's terrified screams were drowned out by the sweet, melodic sound of the hiss of fire.

He turned around at the doorway, to face the flames of his creation. The woman screamed, but before she succumbed to the flames, he saw her confusion. How did he start that fire anyway? He had neither match or lighter.

He looked down at his palms, scarred from years of playing with fire and bombs and other things that explode.

He didn't need any of those things. He started humming, "We Didn't Start the Fire." Even though that wasn't quite true, was it?

He did start the fire.

But he always finished what he started.


	4. Chapter 3: Died In Your Arms Tonight

**Chapter 3: Died in Your Arms Tonight **

"What have we got?"

Detective Inspector Tammy Smith ducked under the crime scene tape and snapped on a pair of rubber gloves as she made her way through the charred remains of yet another San Francisco building.

Don Cho, a beat cop who had been first on the scene, motioned her over. "The M.O. is the same as the others," he said. "Seven people in the bank vault." He shook his head. "That ain't pretty."

A small pool of iridescent liquid had gathered, floating on top of the wet pavement. Smith bent down and ran it between her thumb and first two fingers to check the consistency. It was a colloid made of equal parts oil and gasoline. An accelerant she was more than familiar with by now.

She looked up at Cho, her brown eyes hidden from the glaring sun by a pair of mirrored shades. "Any idea where the fire started?"

"Not officially," Cho said, shaking his head. "Forensics won't have anything until at least next week."

Smith brought herself to full height. "What is your gut telling you?"

Cho didn't say anything for a moment. His poise was tentative, like a child afeared of being admonished if he got the answer wrong. Smith put her hands on her hips and cocked her head to the side, and waited for her answer.

She didn't have to wait long.

"My gut?" he said. Smith nodded. "My gut's telling me it's that son-of-a-bitch arson bombist who's been taking out city buildings all over the friggin' country."

Smith quirked an eyebrow at him. "What makes you say that?"

"The M.O.'s the same, man," he said. Smith looked up at him, a hint of a smile playing on the corners of her mouth. "I mean, ma'am," he corrected, though he looked as though he didn't know if that was the right thing to say, either. "I mean, _Detective_." The look on Smith's face told him he'd finally gotten it right.

He moved over past where Smith had been standing. "The accelerant," he said. "It's a mix, right?" Smith nodded. "Yeah, I figured it would be. I could smell it when I first arrived on the scene. And look here." He pointed down at the broken shards of glass littering the area that was otherwise clean, except for the debris. "Look at the way the glass is misshapen. You only get that when heat cracks the window. The other guys, they think the unsub broke the glass when he was breaking in."

"And you don't."

Cho shook his head. "No, Detective, I do not."

"But if the fire broke the glass, how did the unsub get in?"

"My theory?" Cho asked. Smith nodded, giving him the go-ahead. "He was already in the building. Probably he'd been in there for days."

Smith watched him closely. "You think our uns-" she caught herself about to say _unsub_ and stifled it behind a cough "-suspect, an arson bombist with over twenty-two confirmed kills under his belt, spent three days in the walls of a bank."

Cho looked at his shoes, his cheeks flushing. But then he did something Detective Smith never expected. He looked at her, square in the eyes, and said, "That's exactly what I think."

_Good job_, Smith thought to herself.

Across the way, near the middle of what she suspected was where the vault used to be, Smith's partner, Detective Inspector Ted Simon whistled at her. "Yo, Smith!" he called over the commotion. "That rookie giving you a hard time?"

Detective Smith waved him off, and turned back to Cho. "You have good instincts," she said as she backed away in the direction of where Simon was standing.

"Yeah?" Cho asked, his tone perking up.

Smith nodded. "You have the eye of a detective," she said.

Cho's smile got even wider. "Actually," he said, "I was hoping I could go further."

"How much further?"

Cho shrugged. "FBI," he said. "I'd like to get in with the Behavioral Analysis Unit. In Quantico."

He added that last part quickly, as though he didn't think she would remember it.

But how could she forget? So much of her history was there.

Her _heart_ was there.

Without thinking, Detective Smith touched her chest, the place where a four leaf clover  
>had been burned into her skin. The only reminder she had left of who she was and where she had been.<br>Then, with a tear in her eye, she said to Cho, "If that's what you want, I think you should go for it," and turned to walk back to where Simon was standing.

***

Horatio "Ted Simon" Caine took off his sunglasses.

The scene wasn't pretty, but it was differently the work of his arson bombist/sexual sadist team. They'd found bodies in two places. Upstairs and therefore slightly less crispy, and downstairs burnt beyond repair. They'd have to send for dental records for that one, and who knew how long it would take his team in the forensics lab to match records?

He watched his partner "Tammy Smith" walk over to him with pleasure. She was super-hot, and all he needed was a little time to convince her that since they were both working undercover together under assumed names, they should be together sexually.

Emily had said no to his suggestion of pretending to be married, but it was worth a shot.

"Yes?" She arched a pretty eyebrow. He wanted to lick her eyebrow, but it wasn't the time or the place.

"We've got more bodies."

"I know." She waved her hands at the mess inside. Horatio preferred to stay outside for now. "I need to check inside. See if the killers changed anything."

"That's what the CSI lab is for, babe." Horatio shook his head. She was still acting like a profiler, not a cop. He had to break her of that habit or someone was going to notice.

Emily continued like she hadn't heard him. "Maybe they're getting careless and they've left behind something that will tell us what their next step is."

She marched into the crime scene. Horatio sighed, and put his sunglasses back on. Time to go back into the inferno. He watched her bent over and eye the remains.

"The arson bombist separated one woman away from the rest in the vault." Emily gestured at a back room, where the charred remains of a body and wooden chair lay in a heap. Forensics identified that the fire started in that room and spread out from there. They couldn't figure out how the fire was started though.

"Why was she so important to him that he would separate her out from the rest of the group?" Emily circled around the room, studying the charred remains. It reminded him of a bbq he'd attended last year.

"Sir?" A fresh faced CSI: NY guy hurried up to him, holding a Starbucks in his hand. "I got you your venti mocha half whip no foam quadruple shot chair tea latte."

Horatio snapped his head to the kid. "What's your name?"

"Uhhh, Gary sir."

"What did you say you brought me?"

"Uhh, a venti mocha half whip no foam quadruple shot chai tea latte?"

Horatio shook his head. He hated New York. Everyone on the entire CSI team was incompetent here. This was exactly why he sent all the evidence back to Miami. The killings started there, and he would be damned if the New Yorkers got the credit for it.

"It's wrong. I wanted a venti mocha half whip _light _foam quadruple shot chair tea latte!" He snatched his sunglasses off. "My drink is ruined now! How are you supposed to catch a murderer if you can't even get coffee right?"

"Sir I-"

"No!" This was completely unacceptable.

"Ted." Emily looked up at him, hunched over the charred remains. "Really?"

He sighed. The sacrifices he made for her. "Okay. Fine." He snatched the cup out of the boy's hand. "You're lucky I am in a good mood right now."

Guy hurried off, leaving Horatio and Emily alone. At least.

"Emily. Where would you like to eat tonight?"

"I'm probably just getting fast food on the way back to hotel." She was distracted; not even looking at him.

A different approach. "I thought we could go over evidence over dinner. You need to eat."

"Sure. Lookit here." She pointed at the circular pattern of the burn marks. "It's like he watched her burn for a while. It's like a stage."

"All the world is a stage," He started. When your Mom saddled you with a name like Horatio, you had to memorize at least SOME Shakespeare. "And we are merely players."

Emily continued, again like he hadn't said a word. "You usually only see that type of behavior from people with something to say." She paced across the room. "From here, I can get away from the fire quickly, but still watch the process."

"Yes? So?" He raised his eyebrows high enough so that she could see them over the glasses.

"Well, it means he has a message. Think of the buildings they have burned-mostly government buildings. You wouldn't think of them as being overly political, but still...a bank? A post office-"

"Talk about going postal," he quipped.

"Court houses, city hall, the public library, even the DMV-"

"Yeah, but it's the DMV. Anyone would want to set a torch to that place after they've tried to renew their license."

"All of those places have some connection to the government, and by extension, all of the employees."

Cho, the cop that was first on the scene, walked in with that statement. "Wow. Should we call the BAU?" He almost sounded hopeful.

"NO!" They both said at the same time.

"Not yet." Emily said, the regret plain in her voice. Was it also fear as well? Hmmm, perhaps she was worried that her team wouldn't take to kindly to the fact that she's playing dead. Horatio's own team, clearly superior to hers, would simply take it in stride. He-and his brother-had faked death several times before.

Cho backing out of the room, clearly not wanting to incur his wrath. Smart man. He wouldn't like Horatio when he was angry.

"That was close," he said to Emily.

She nodded. "Yeah. But honestly, I don't know how much longer the Chief will keep them out of the loop. He's already cross state lines from Florida all the way up to New York and now to San Francisco."

Horatio nodded. It would be a...problem if Emily's beloved team came to New York. Lucky for him, just like vampires, they had to be invited in.

If he had any chance with Emily, and any chance of keeping the glory for his own team, he had to make sure that never happened.

No matter what.


	5. Chapter 4: Can't Fight This Feeling

**Chapter 4: Can't Fight This Feeling Anymore**

Ashley caught up with Spencer in the break room when the team had all agreed they could use a breather. She wanted to thank him for what he had done for her by not airing out her family's dirty laundry while everyone else was around.

She put her hand on Spencer's shoulder, causing him to spill the piping hot coffee he had been pouring into his personalized BAU mug.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" she said, feeling stupid. She reached for a paper towel and began blotting the hot coffee off of Spencer's Dockers pants. It wasn't until Morgan swaggered in on a menacing chuckle that she realized what it looked like. She stopped what she was doing, her hand still on Spencer's fly, and looked up at him. He gave her an uncomfortable tight-lipped smile and though his cheeks weren't flushed, he was unable to meet his eyes.

She could feel her cheeks burning with embarrassment the likes of which she had not felt since the time in fifth grade when she had kissed Bobby Hall while her music teacher was out of the room and accidentally threw up in his mouth.

Kids could be so mean. They called her Ashley Blows-chunks, a play on her then-surname Beauchamps, well into middle school.

It was better than what they had called her when they found out her father had been hacking up women, though.

"Heh, heh, heh." Morgan sidled up beside the two of them. He filled his personalized BAU mug-which said 'Derek Morgan' on it-and leaned against the counter. "Didn't mean to interrupt anything," he said.

He took a sip of coffee, black, no cream or sugar. Ashley's stomach turned at the thought of drinking that bitter, toxic sludge all on its own. It was bad enough drinking it after she'd loaded it with International Delights Almond Joy-flavored coffee creamer. She couldn't imagine drinking it straight out of the pot.

Morgan was still talking. "If I'd known a hand job was standard protocol every time Reid here wet himself..." he trailed off with a low descending whistle. Then he pulled a box of expensive chocolate truffles out of his pocket and handed them to her. "Here." He pressed the chocolates into her palm. "A welcome to the team gift."

Ashley narrowed her eyes on Morgan. "Hey," she said. "I burned him. I was trying to clean up my mistake. You don't have to make everything sound so dirty."

Spencer looked agitated, but said nothing. He reached past Morgan and refilled his coffee mug, and then moved over to the small table were the Splenda lived.

"Let's get something straight, shark bait," Morgan said. "You want to fit in with this team, you gotta roll with the punches. We've been together a long time, since before you even got it in your head that you might want to be part of this team. We've got a rapport going."

He stared her straight in her eyes and she stared him straight back, unwavering, even when his testosterone-laden energy had invaded her personal space, shaking her to her core and leaving her feeling as ill as she had the day she'd kissed Bobby Hall.

She could feel her eyes going watery. "Are you threatening me?" she asked.

Morgan shook his head. "I'm not threatening anyone," he said. "I'm just telling you, things would go a lot smoother for you if you would go with the flow and stop trying to rock the boat. We already have a Doogie Howser. We don't need another. So next time, maybe you should sit down, stay quiet, and look pretty. That's what you're good at. And in a few years, after you have some _real_ experience and have learned a few things from this _elite_-" he practically spat the words out at her, the stench of coffee heavy on his breath, which she could feel on her face "-team, maybe you'll be able to offer more than hand jobs in the break room."

Ashley was so angry she didn't trust herself to speak. Every fiber in her body was telling her to karate chop Morgan's coffee-drinking ass, but she had more self control than that. More restraint. She was not her father, dammit. And she was not going to be like that, to lose her impulses like that, not for any man.

Especially not for Morgan.

She put the chocolates he'd given her on the counter by the sink and gave Morgan a warning smile. "Excuse me," she said. "My _team_ needs me right now."

And without a second glance, she left the room.


	6. Chapter 5: Urgent!

**Chapter 5: Urgent!**

Reid looked around the break room. After a long day of getting nowhere but on each other's nerves, he needed a break. He spied the box of chocolates Morgan gave Ashley this morning. She'd said he could have one.

Having pulled a package of Twinkies, Hostess cupcakes, and peanut butter crackers out of the vending machine down the hall, he rounded out his lunch with a few of Ashley's candies. She said it was sweet of Derek, but she was on Week 17 of the Blatin's diet plan, and chocolate wasn't allowed.

He bit into the chocolate, closing his eyes. Candy and books. His two solaces in live. They were getting nowhere, and fast, on this case. Candy also seemed to be the only thing to take the edge off his splitting headaches. He could feel one now, growing at the base of his neck, ready to sink it's claws into him.

Ashley came into the break room, her smiling lighting up the place like a small sun. "Hey, glad to see you're enjoying them."

Reid nodded, feeling himself blush. "Yeah, thanks." He gestured at the peanut butter crackers. "You want some?"

She shook her head. "No, sorry. Week 17 is very strict." She sat down across from him on the table with a piece of celery and some clamato juice.

"Why are you even on a diet?" Reid looked at her. Why women starved themselves was something he never understood. "You're perfectly healthy."

"Right." She leaned forward on her elbows, grinning at him. His stomach twisted, and he could even feel a slight twinge in his intestines. "Which is why I am on a diet."

He frowned. "Ashley...I think, you're pretty and you shouldn't starve yourself just because the media says so."

She smiled shyly at him. "Thanks. But I have to be careful." She looked down at the table, and then up at him, in a classic posture of a person about to confess some deep dark secret. "I used to be really fat. And then I was anorexic. I was a model until I had to have my appendix taken out." She looked away. "I couldn't go back after having a scar like that."

"I thought those scars were only an inch long or so?"

"Exactly. The industry is...well, rough. I gained a lot of weight after that, and then I tried to lose it and..." She shook her head, her eyes far away with pain. "I just don't want to go back to that sort of place."

Reid nodded, trying to understand. She clearly felt disgusted with herself, but to him she was beautiful. His intestines twisted again, and Reid started to have a sinking feeling he wasn't going to make it until he got home to do Number Two. He hated doing that in public and avoided it at all costs.

Ashley's eyes brimmed with tears. "I hated myself for a long time, you know?"

Reid nodded, trying to look reassuring and supportive, and absolutely not like he was worried he had a bad case of diarrhea in the works. "I can understand that. You must have been-" A sharp cramp in his stomach made him wince. "You must have been confused."

"About what?"

"Well, with your history..." He started to sweat, either from bringing up Ashley's serial killer daddy or the severe intestinal cramps. Perhaps both.

She nodded. "Oh yeah, that. Yeah. I was confused. I was trying to find myself, and I made a lot of mistakes along the way." She averted her eyes, like there were still secrets she wasn't sharing.

He was just glad she was sharing at all, but why did it have to come right now? He wondered if there was a way to get out of this conversation without blowing her off. Another cramp twisted through him again and he breathed slowly through his mouth. His beautiful coworker was baring her soul to him. He could work through this. Idly, he wondered if there was any cheese in the fridge.

"I am sure you didn't do anything wrong." Reid breathed. In and out. He hunched over the table a little, hoping that would help.

Ashley looked away, like doe in the woods scared off by loud noises. "I've done things I...regret."

_Just breathe, Spencer. You're never going to get a chance like this again. _"Ummm hmmmm."

"I know you've probably never done anything wrong in your life-you're so sweet-but I have. There's some things you can't take back and once it's out there, it there for good."

He knew he could deduce what she was alluding to if he could just concentrate. But he couldn't profile Ashley and keep his intestines from mutinying at the same time. He nodded again, trying to look her in the eye. His intestines felt like they were cramping up as hard as they could. "Yes. That is true."

Ashley looked down at her hands. "Do you think I am a bad person?"

"No. Uh uhh." He could feel himself sweat, and his intestines grumbled at him. He would have to find a bathroom, and soon. Very soon. He stood up, wincing in pain. "You're a great person. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some very important business to attend to." He tried not to run out of the room and prayed to God that the side bathroom was open.


End file.
